


That Which Bends

by CupidStrikes



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Coercion, Dubious Consent, M/M, Spoilers for season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:24:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupidStrikes/pseuds/CupidStrikes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You should be on your knees thanking me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Which Bends

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware it's not Himura that says this, however I felt this kind of role fit him better than the President. 
> 
> One day I'll find my Ren and Masato muses and leave Tokiya alone...Promise...

 

“You should be on your knees thanking me.” Tokiya looks at Himura's reflection in the mirror on the dressing room wall. His hands pause on loosening his cravat and he lets his sweat-damp fringe fall into his eyes a little more.

“Excuse me?” He keeps his voice even and looks back down at trying to get the knot undone. His fingers feel thick and useless and the knot refuses to loosen. Behind him, Himura pushes away from the wall and steps towards him until Tokiya can feel the warmth from his body.

“Did I stutter, Hayato?” Tokiya flinches when fingers, cool from the outside air, touch his neck, the patch of skin between the back of his ear and his hair line, and slide down to toy with the first button of his shirt under the cravat. “You haven't been this busy in years, and I got you this concert, didn't I?” The first button slips out of its hole traitorously easily, and Tokiya reaches up to push that hand away. Himura grabs his wrist tightly and leans down, catches Tokiya's gaze in the mirror as he whispers into his ear. His lips brush his skin and Tokiya shudders involuntarily at the contact.

“This took a lot of work, you know, Hayato. Don't be ungrateful.” He catches his ear between his teeth and applies enough pressure to the cartilage to force Tokiya to try and twitch his head away, to lean forward and free his other hand from his cravat.

“Stop this!” His eyes, the colour of clouded sea glass up close, are narrowed, trying to mask the fear Himura can see in the rest of him. He swipes his thumb underneath one gently to straighten the smudged kohl line. Tokiya continues to stare at him, his wrist stiff in Himura's grasp, and the other hand firmly pushing at him. “I have another engagement tonight. I need to leave now.”

Tokiya cries out when Himura slaps him. The walls of the dressing room are sound-proofed for their occupants' privacy and the sound is muffled. Tugging on the cravat enough to loosen it and toss it to the table in front of them, Himura slides his long fingers around Tokiya's throat, his thumb lightly rubbing his Adam's apple when it dips down as Tokiya swallows.

“You begged me for this, Hayato, and you blew it. Did you truly think a mistake like this would come so cheaply? It is not just your reputation you are risking here, but mine, and the President's. The agency's.”

Tokiya looks away and shakes his head. Has no answer for this. He would like to blame it on his ankle, bring up the old injury and the pain he's in when he walks on it. Would like to. Knows that it will not excuse what happened. Tomorrow he will have to look Natsuki and Haruka in the face and pretend he has no idea what happened. He doubt he'll continue to fool Haruka much longer. The girl looks at him too closely, like she's examining him under a magnifying glass, and he's unsure how long she'll continue to humour his charade. If she outs him, his career will be finished. 

Behind him, Himura has loosened the buttons on his costume's jacket, working blindly but surely, and those hands smooth up his clothed chest once the heavy fabric falls open. Tokiya hisses softly between his teeth when the man pinches his skin and he pushes that hand away once more. Himura grasps a fistful of his hair instead and drags his head back so that he can stare into Tokiya's eyes directly. Eyes watering from the way his hair is pulled taut, Tokiya does his best to glare at the other man.

“I said, on your knees.” Himura drags him out of the chair, letting Tokiya stagger to his feet before pressing down on his head. “I'd hate to have to tell the President that you're no longer taking your place with us seriously.” 

Tokiya closes his eyes and lets himself be guided to his knees. His ankle throbs with pain in protest at the movement and he presses the heel of his other foot into it. The ache keeps him focussed. Stops the panic throbbing at his temples from taking over. He will not allow himself that weakness, too. It's not the first time he's done this. Not the first time he's had his arm twisted into this position, either. Before, he had been too naïve to consider saying no. This time he knows better, and knows better than to fight it. It is occurring to Hayato, and Hayato is used to doing things he doesn't want. Tokiya will not allow this event precedence once he has returned to Saotome Academy.

Himura is at least content to mostly let Tokiya work at his own pace and not force it. His hand remains tangled around the dark blue strands of Tokiya's hair, though, just to prevent him forgetting who is really in control. His other hand guides his cock into Tokiya's mouth and then tucks a lose lock of hair behind Tokiya's ear, rubs the downy hairs on the back of his neck. The pressure feels like a collar, and Tokiya knows that this too is important. He settles onto his knees as comfortably as he can and straightens his throat, leans forward and pulls back several seconds afterwards. Repeats the motion. Himura presses his hips forward now and then, his hand occasionally applying or relenting pressure on Tokiya's head in the same rhythm. He talks to him sometimes. Most of it is lost in all the heavy panting and the way that his blood sings static into his ears but Tokiya catches snatches of words and sentences here and there. Himuta tells him he's doing a good job, that he's so talented at this, and is it any surprise really when Tokiya is so good with that pretty mouth of his in every other respect? 

Flinching when called by his real name is a mistake, as it makes Himura laugh. Makes him drag the fringe from Tokiya's eyes and taps him on the nose until he looks up. His lips move but the words that come out seem to reach Tokiya's ears at a delayed pace.

 

_Does it bother you so much when I call you that, Tokiya? Isn't that what you wanted, hm?_

 

Tokiya closes his eyes and folds his hands carefully in his lap. His fingers toy with a loose stitch on his gloves, tugging at it and unravelling it little by little, wrapping it tightly around his left index finger until the pain fades to pins and needles and if he looks down he knows the pale skin will have turned the same shade as the organ in his mouth. That thought almost makes him gag, and he snaps the thread and lets it float onto the scuffed linoleum flooring. He braces himself against Himura's hip with his other hand, keeps his eyes closed so he doesn't have to see the man's face, the way he's barely moved his clothing, the way he knows the room is gently pitching from side to side. Tokiya lets Himura move a hand to his jaw and dig his fingers in as his breaths come in shallower and quicker. He feels nails prick into his scalp, under his jaw bone, and he chokes when the cock in his mouth is suddenly forced deeper. He tries to hold his breath. The smell of skin is suffocating and sickening all at once and Tokiya is glad he hadn't eaten since that morning. Himura pulls back just as quickly, and takes his hand away from Tokiya's chin to his cheek.

He opens one eye a sliver, confused at such a merciful gesture, and closes it again when he feels the first drops of hot liquid hit his lower lip. Himura's thumb presses into his mouth and presses into the ragged flesh on the inside of his cheek and Tokiya is forced to keep his mouth open and feel the way that the mix of saliva and semen slowly trickles down his chin.

“Look at me.” Tokiya opens his eyes slowly, blinks back moisture blur to clarity and stares up at his manager. Himura takes his thumb out of his mouth and presses his jaw shut. 

“Swallow.” Tokiya does. His throat is dry and he has to force it, the motion hurting and making tears collect in the corner of his eyes anew. Himura wipes the last droplets on the tip of his cock onto Tokiya's cheek in a trail that rapidly cools and pinches the skin as it dries, before stepping back to tuck himself back in and straighten his clothes. Tokiya raises a hand to his face but aborts the motion halfway and drops his hand back into his lap. Forces himself to keep his back straight. Presses his heel into the bandage on his ankle again.

“Clean up and get out. I want to see you tomorrow afternoon to discuss your schedule for next week.” Himura doesn't look back at him. He closes the door to the dressing room behind him and is gone, and Tokiya knows he should be grateful there is still a schedule for next week at all.

What Tokiya doesn't know is how long he remains on the floor waiting for the dizziness to fade and for the screaming tinnitus in his ears to quiet. He grasps the edge of his chair for support when he stands, and he cannot miss how the mirror and the yellowed bulbs was out all colour in his cheeks and make each last smear and fleck of sperm on his face stand out like filth. He searches his pockets for tissues before just wiping it off with the back of his hand. It has begun to dry and is already tacky and falls away like dead skin onto the dark fabric of his costume jacket, his gloves, the floor. Tokiya places his hands carefully onto the table, his palms flat to steady himself, and they leave a red smear when he straightens up. The material of his gloves is damp with sweat and blood from little half-moon wounds that Tokiya finds when he takes them off. He hadn't even realised he had clenched his hands that tightly. The jacket is next, and he only straightens the white shirt beneath before putting on his civilian clothes. The costume jacket goes into his bag to be hand-washed later, and he checks his reflection one last time to be sure. The gel has long since lost its hold and with the way his hair is drooping into his face and over his ears like this he doesn't look like Hayato any more. The only member of staff left backstage is a security guard who just nods once to Tokiya and then stares back at the security camera feedback on the monitors. It is still raining, though the sky is night dark now. Tokiya flags down a taxi and has to try twice before he can find his voice and enunciate the address of the school coherently. He sinks low into the seat and watches as the street lights pass overhead like comet tails. For now, Tokiya Ichinose is going to have a shower and go to bed after a busy shift at his part-time job. Hayato can deal with the aftermath in the morning. 


End file.
